


A Question of Efficiency

by Jay_Lee_Leuis



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Gen, a little tiny fixit for the CatsuitTM, pls voyager you Cannot expect us to believe that thing was cutting edge space fashion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Lee_Leuis/pseuds/Jay_Lee_Leuis
Summary: Seven begins adjusting to life outside the Collective.





	A Question of Efficiency

**Author's Note:**

> Seven's catsuit has always been a "yikes" thing about voyager - pretty sure this has been done before/better, but here's my take on trying to make it a little less yikes.

Seven of Nine was no longer borg. She was separated from the hive, alone. Her human body had rejected her cybernetic enhancements. She had _hair._ And yet, for some reason, the issue of _clothing_ had become a sticking point with Voyager’s emergency medical hologram. 

“Why don’t we try a uniform on for size?” he said. One of many suggestions that had been no such thing. “Here. It goes on like this.” He briefly demonstrated how to slide the garment over one’s legs and arms in a series of convoluted gestures, and handed the piece of fabric to her. “Now you try.”

She stared back at him. “Why?”

He snorted. “You’ll find in human society it’s considered polite to wear clothing.”

“I _am_ wearing clothing.” He had earlier provided her a dermaplastic garment. It was fabric, it covered her body, and therefore it was clothing as humans defined it. 

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “In a sense. Try the uniform. You might like it.”

Seven was unable to parse the relevance of his first or last sentence, but she grasped the clarity of the command. She pulled the top half of the garment on over her head and stepped into the lower half. The fabric rustled and bunched. She took an experimental step forward. the uniform pants constricted around her leg in some places, loosened in others, and rode up uncomfortably. She stopped. “This design is inefficient.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the hologram said, “the crew seems to manage just fine.”

The collar of the shirt dragged against her neck, the waistband pulled tightly around her middle and constantly needed to be pulled down, the sleeves bunched at her elbows and the ends dangled at her wrists, brushing infuriatingly against her skin. It was a constant reminder of the limits of her form, a single drone in a single body. The finality of it was stifling, incomprehensible; it agitated against her mind and threatened to consume every available thought.

Seven ground her teeth. “I will not wear this,” she said with all the finality she could muster.

She tried to pull the garments off as she had pulled them on, but the shirt caught at her arms, making it all but impossible to move. She tore at it, frantically, and finally came free with a loud tearing sound. “It seems to lack durability as well,” she observed, tossing what remained of the shirt aside.

The doctor closed his eyes briefly. For an emergency hologram, he was programmed to perform a wide variety of extraneous gestures. “I suppose it does seem to.”

The doors slid open with the now-familiar pneumatic hiss and Captain Janeway stepped inside, arms clasped behind her back. She surveyed the scene with a raised eyebrow. “What’s all this?”

“Captain,” the doctor said. “Seven of Nine and I have been having an _extended_ conversation concerning appropriate attire in human culture.”

“My current attire is sufficient,” Seven said quickly. “I have no desire to wear a starfleet uniform, or otherwise ‘broaden my palate.’” She quoted the doctor’s bizarre idiom with a sideways glance toward him.

“I see.” Janeway looked between the two of them. “Just out of curiosity, what seems to be the problem with the clothing the doctor’s suggested?”

Seven would not have described that feeling at the edge of panic even if she could. “It is inefficient.”

“Of course it is.” Janeway laughed. Seven could not understand why the obvious inadequacies of the clothing provoked humor in the captain, and she did not care to.

Seven squared her shoulders and stared the captain down. “I will not wear it,” she repeated.

Janeway cast a glance at the torn and discarded uniform. “I can see that.”

“Captain, if I may,” The hologram stepped forward, and began speaking more quietly, although Seven could still hear every word. “To be frank, my suggestion would be to allow Seven to simply remain with whatever makes her more comfortable, but I did want to consult you. The, ah, dermaplastic garment isn’t exactly regulation-issue.”

“I don’t think much about Voyager is, these days.” Janeway’s smile was asymmetric, almost sideways. Borg did not smile, and if they did, they never would have smiled like that.

The hologram nodded, as if Janeway’s statement had been answer. Perhaps it had, in what passed for communication among humans: inefficient, and easily misconstrued. Seven ground her teeth. “Captain,” she said, “your decision?”

Janeway squared her shoulders. “Seven, considering that you are not a member of starfleet, please feel free to wear whatever your heart desires.”

The captain’s idioms took a moment for Seven to parse, but the meaning was clear. “Understood.”

“Good.” Janeway handed her a pad. “Now, as the doctor has determined you are fit for duty, I’ve tentatively put you on the roster to assist B’Elanna in engineering - how would you feel about that?”

Seven tried and failed to grasp the relevance of Janeway’s question. “I will report to my designated assignment,” she replied.

“Seven,” Janeway said with exaggerated patience, “Do you _want_ to work in engineering? Or would you prefer a different assignment?”

“Borg do not have ‘preferences’” Seven replied. “I will work where my assistance will be most valuable to this collective.” 

Janeway gave her a long look. “That’s that, then,” she said. “We’ll try out engineering. If you have any trouble, you can always come to me.”

Seven clasped her arms behind her back. “I will not ‘have trouble.’ I am borg.” The statement was false. But humans often believed falsehoods, even found them comforting. Perhaps, if she was human now, she could find them comforting as well

“I don’t doubt it.” Janeway turned to go, then stopped. “Oh, and Seven,” Janeway again displayed that asymmetric smile. “Welcome aboard.”


End file.
